Book The First - Chapter 1 Venice

It was evening. Multitudes of light clouds, partially illumined by
the moonbeams, overspread the horizon, and through them floated the
full moon in tranquil majesty, while her splendour was reflected by
every wave of the Adriatic Sea. All was hushed around; gently was
the water rippled by the night wind; gently did the night wind sigh
through the Colonnades of Venice.

It was midnight; and still sat a stranger, solitary and sad, on the
border of the great canal. Now with a glance he measured the
battlements and proud towers of the city; and now he fixed his
melancholy eyes upon the waters with a vacant stare. At length he
spoke "Wretch that I am, whither shall I go? Here sit I in Venice, and
what would it avail to wander further? What will become of me? All
now slumber, save myself! the Doge rests on his couch of down; the
beggar's head presses his straw pillow; but for ME there is no bed
except the cold, damp earth! There is no gondolier so wretched but
he knows where to find work by day and shelter by night--while I--
while I--Oh! dreadful is the destiny of which I am made the
sport!"

He began to examine for the twentieth time the pockets of his
tattered garments.

"No! not one paolo, by heavens!--and I hunger almost to death."

He unsheathed his sword; he waved it in the moonshine, and sighed,
as he marked the glittering of the steel.